The Debt Read online

  The Debt

  D A Latham

  The Debt

  Copyright © 2015 D A Latham

  Smashwords Edition

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic format without permission.

  Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

  DEDICATION

  To my dearest, darling Allan

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  YOUTUBE VIDS FEATURING IN THE BOOK

  FOLLOW D A LATHAM - TWITTER + WORDPRESS

  BONUS CHAPTER 1

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I’d like to thank Iris Winn for her unwavering support and enthusiasm

  and

  Brian Schell for his sense of humour and terrific pep-talks.

  This is a work of fiction, and all characters, names and situations are purely illustrative and are the product of the author’s imagination.

  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  CHAPTER 1

  I sat in abject misery, unable to believe that I was actually in Bromley County Court’s waiting room. People like me don't get into debt, and we don't get taken to court; only I had been. A series of bad decisions plus some bad luck had landed me there. MVDI, the credit card company that had given me a shiny gold card five years previous, on my 19th birthday, had finally lost patience and wanted to find a way to make me pay up with money I didn't have.

  I glanced around furtively, praying that I didn't come face-to-face with anyone I knew. The shame would've been crushing. There were single mothers with children at their feet, no doubt trying to make ends meet and failing miserably, just as I had. They didn't look ashamed, just sad. Numerous nationalities were represented in that snapshot of the poor of Bromley. A duty solicitor sat behind me, trying to communicate with an African woman, attempting to steer her through what would happen while not being able to speak the same language. I wished I had a solicitor. Someone to represent me and hold my hand would've helped. Unfortunately since I worked, albeit for a low wage, I wasn't entitled to free legal help, nor was I able to pay for it, so I was all alone.

  I'd challenged the amount of my debt, having read online about cases where excessive charges and interest had been disallowed by sympathetic judges. I was pinning all my hopes on getting the interest frozen and the charges wiped off. Without it, I just couldn't see a way of paying back the amount I owed. My fingers clasped the handle of my document carrier, my knuckles white from tension. I prayed that the credit card company would forget to send anyone along, and the case would be dismissed. There was only ten minutes till my turn, so it was not long to wait.

  I surveyed the room, wondering what all the different people were there for, when a man in an expensive suit strode up to the check-in desk and spoke to the lady booking people in. She pointed at me, making my heart sink. The Suit nodded at her, signed in, then made his way over. In happier times, I would've said he was handsome, attractive even, but in that place, he was almost the devil himself.

  "Miss Higgs?" The Suit enquired. I nodded. "May I sit down?" His voice was quite posh, not upper class, but educated. I nodded again. He sat opposite me and plopped his briefcase on the chair next to him. "My name is Mr McCarthy, I'm from Alpha, the law firm representing MVDI. Can I ask why you're contesting this claim?" I was glad he kept his voice down. I didn't want the whole waiting room knowing I was there because I was in hopeless debt.

  "I'm not contesting that there's a debt," I murmured, my determination and bravado failing me, "but there's been

  excessive charges and interest applied unfairly. I found out online that some people have successfully challenged them and had their debt reduced."

  I glanced up at him; his face was impassive. "In the cases you've been looking at, people were in a position to pay a reduced amount in one lump sum, which is why the company accepted it. I have a copy of your credit agreement that states in the terms and conditions how much the charges would be for late or non-payment. I'd urge you to accept this judgement now, before you rack up more costs by going in front of the judge."

  "I'm here now, Mr McCarthy, so I may as well try my luck. None of those cases said anything about a lump sum payment being involved. You won't scare me out of walking into that room." I tilted my head towards the doorway to the judge's chamber.

  "You won't win, I can tell you that now. I do a lot of these and the law is on the side of the creditor." He held my gaze with bright blue eyes.

  "We'll see," I said, looking away, cursing him inwardly for being so damned attractive. I stared down at my document bag. It'd been my old college bag and had seen better days. Like everything I owned, it was frayed and scuffed.

  "As you wish," he said abruptly. He stood, grabbed his pristine briefcase, and moved to another seat several rows down. I watched as he played with his iPhone, noticing how his long fingers flew over the screen with a practiced ease. He was no stranger to luxury.

  By the time we were called into the judge’s room, my palms were sweaty and my heart was pounding. The Suit directed me to sit on a bench to the right-hand side, while he sat on the left. The judge was a tiny, dark-haired lady, who sat behind a large mahogany desk, on which there were a few thick legal books laying open.

  "Let's get started," she said in a no-nonsense way. "Higgs versus MVDI. Is that correct?"

  I nodded.

  "You are Miss Higgs. Is that correct?" She pinned me with an intense glare.

  My mouth went dry. Even saying “yes” to her felt as though I was mumbling through a mouthful of cotton wool. All thoughts of getting away without paying my debt vanished. I wished that I'd just admitted it to begin with and avoided the hearing. I debated running out of the room. "Are you unrepresented?" She asked.

  I nodded. "I don't qualify for free legal help as I work, but I couldn't afford a lawyer."

  She didn't answer, just turned to the suit, "You must be Mr McCarthy for MVDI?"

  "Correct," said the Suit.

  The judge flicked through a file of papers slowly. "So tell me Ms Higgs, on what basis do you dispute this debt?" She fixed me with rather kindly brown eyes.

  I swallowed. "At least five thousand pounds of this debt is made up of charges and extortionate interest. I found some other cases online where this had been successfully challenged." I'd stumbled a bit over my words, but had gotten my point across.

  "Which cases were they?" She asked. I'd printed off the case notes secretly at work. I began to recite the names.

  "Ambleford versus MVDI, Foster versus MVDI, Benson versus MVDI. That's just a couple. There've been a lot more." For the first time since walking into that room, I felt a glimmer of hope.

  "May I see them please?" I stood and walked up to the desk to hand her the notes I'd printed off. For the following few minutes we all sat in silence as she read through them carefully, then consulted a large legal book in front of her.

  "Mr McCarthy, are you aware of these cases?" She eventually asked. She held the papers out to him. He took them from her and flicked through them quickly.

  "Every single one of these cases involve a historical card agreement, at least twenty years old
, lost by the company. Plus, the defendants were able to offer a reduced lump sum settlement. It's not relevant in this case. On page two of your bundle is the agreement signed by Miss Higgs. Clauses 4, 5, 5a, and 5b relate directly to late payment fees and charges, and clause 8 covers interest charges. It's an agreement approved by the FSA. Miss Higgs was given another copy when she received her card on the third of March 2009. The cases are not relevant to hers." His voice was deep and confident.

  "Agreed. The debt is upheld." The judge barely looked up. Ice flowed through my veins at the verdict.

  "I request costs at four thousand and seventeen pounds," said the Suit. My mouth dropped open in horror. We'd been in there five minutes. Nobody was worth nearly a thousand quid a minute.

  "Denied. Costs shouldn't go above three thousand pounds for a hearing, you'll cap costs at that level," the judge snapped. "Session is dismissed."

  I stood up in a daze, my mind a fog of despair. Not only did I already owe twelve thousand pounds, in five minutes, I'd racked up another three thousand quids’ worth of debt. I had no hope at all of ever paying it back. I was a fuck-up of monumental proportions.

  I fought an almost-overwhelming urge to scream in a toddler-tantrum kind of way. The sheer injustice of the robbing, greedy credit card company, and the way they'd brought me to my knees, made me want to howl with the unfairness of it. I would be in total poverty for the rest of my life trying to pay them back.

  All my hopes for a better future crumbled away at that moment. I'd wanted to be one of those career girls I'd watched on Sex and the City. I'd wanted a nice apartment, a great wardrobe, expensive shoes, and a gorgeous man on my arm. Instead, I had a County Court Judgement, a tiny bedsit, and I was all alone in my predicament.

  Stumbling out of the courthouse in a dream-like state, I tripped on the last step. My humiliation was complete as I landed on my knees in front of a gaggle of rough-looking girls. They erupted in peals of laughter as I floundered on the floor, trying to ignore the pain in my knee and the blood flowing down my leg. I felt my face burn even brighter with the fresh embarrassment. I limped away to find a quiet bench round the back of East Street and let the tears flow.

  I knew my debt was merely a drop to a huge company such as MVDI, but the judgement meant bailiffs ransacking my tiny bedsit, or worse still, my boss being told in the form of an earnings attachment order. Given that I worked in a position of trust, I'd probably get the sack. My job was all I had, so to me, losing it meant my life was over.

  I sat there for half an hour or so, letting all the tears out. Eventually I was dry-sobbing, like an empty petrol tank trying to power a car. In my own mind, I knew I was one of life's losers; one of those people who never gets it quite right. Some people sail through life easily, not experiencing crushing defeat or gaggles of girls laughing at their misfortune. All my life I'd been the butt of jokes, the one who slipped up. I'd been the girl whose parents had died, leaving me at the mercy of the state care system. I'd been the girl whom the social workers “forgot,” and the one who didn't get the help I'd been due. I'd been on my own since the age of eight in reality. Ill-prepared and ill-equipped for the world around me. I was the girl with the scars.

  I'd thought that as I'd entered adulthood, that somehow I'd change, that I would stop making the bad decisions and learn to fit in with all the winners. MVDI, assisted by the Suit, had effectively slapped me round the face and reminded me how inferior I was. Now the company would own my future, helped by the same government who had shoved me into a terrifying and cold children's home, and then forgotten to give me a social worker or try and find me a foster home. They just left me there, ignored and afraid.

  I stood to begin the walk home. I could've caught the bus, but knowing that every single penny would need to be used for paying back my debt, I decided that I'd have to get used to a frugal existence. My misery was complete when it began to rain. Within almost no time, the water had oozed through my thin coat, and seeped into my shoes via a hole underneath the toe. I cursed Primark for selling cheap, inadequate products that didn't do their job. Another sob erupted when it hit me that I'd never be able to afford good shoes again, or even a pair of winter boots. I'd have cold, wet feet forever.

  I squelched along, the rain concealing tears streaming down my face again. In that moment, I made a decision. I would escape once and for all. I would thwart the evil card company. They wouldn't get their money. I'd end it all in a two-fingered gesture to a world that had never given a shit whether I was there or not.

  With the decision made, I relaxed a little. I pondered the best way to enact my plan. I knew overdosing was risky, since too few people actually died from it. Hanging would be difficult in my tiny box of a bedsit. I spotted a sign for Bromley South Station and decided it would be a speedy, efficient way to do it. There were plenty of fast, through-trains, so I wouldn't feel a thing, it would be so quick.

  I had to buy a ticket at the station to get through the barrier. I used money that should've gone to MVDI to purchase a single to London. Nobody noticed me as I wandered along platform three waiting for the right moment. I sat down on a bench to wait and contemplate my last moments in a cruel, uncaring world. A train pulled in slowly, the announcer saying it was a Herne Bay service. I remembered going there once with my parents, in happier times, before the accident happened. My memory was hazy, but I recalled having chips on the beach and an enormous candy floss. It was one of very few early memories I had, having mentally locked away all vestiges of childhood happiness while in the bleak, oppressive orphanage.

  I watched a family get on, cheerful in their tight foursome. I no longer found seeing families painful, especially knowing my own pain would be ending soon. The train pulled away, leaving just me on the platform. Groups of people were on the platform next to me, probably heading into London. I ignored them all and sat quietly, waiting for my chance.

  "Fast train coming through at platform three. Stand well back," said the announcer. I stood, leaving my handbag on the bench. I began to walk towards the edge, ready to fall at the right moment. I could hear the train in the distance, different from the norm, as there was no slowing down. I stood, waiting for its approach.

  As it neared, I began to tip forward, my mind blank.

  I felt an arm round me, yanking me back. "I've got you," said a deep voice. I opened my eyes in surprise. I'd expected oblivion, but instead I could see an arm, wrapped in a wool coat, firmly holding me round the waist.

  "What did you do that for?" I snapped at the arm, angry I'd have to wait for the next train.

  "Because nothing is ever that bad," he said in a voice I recognised. I tried to prise his arm off me, but he held firm. "I'm not letting you go all the time we're near this train track," he added. I sagged, tired beyond belief from all the emotion. "We're gonna go over, get your bag, and then we're gonna walk out of this station and get you some help," he said quietly.

  I didn't reply. With his arm firmly grasping my waist, he frogmarched me out, up the escalator, and back onto the high street. Without stopping, he guided me into a Starbucks, and up to the till. "What would you like to drink?"

  "I haven't..." I began. He stopped me.

  "It's on me. Large latte? You must be frozen." He turned to the barista, "two large lattes please," before plonking his briefcase down to use his free hand to fish around in his pocket for some money. I carried our coffees to a table in the back. Finally, he released me, and we sat down. It was then that I noticed he had my document bag strapped across him. I'd left it in the courtroom in my haste to escape.

  "Would you like to tell me what all that was about?" He said.

  "Mr McCarthy, I don't really think that's any of your business." The man had wrecked me once that day; I didn't really feel like justifying my decision to him.

  "It's Andy... My name, that is. And I think it's very much my business when you walk out of a room and try and kill yourself. It's only a credit card debt."

  "Only?" I spluttered. "T
hat three thousand pounds you just earned in there represents my food money for the next three years. I have nothing. Now I know I never will, either." A fat tear rolled down my face. I swiped it away.

  "They won't take your food money," he said softly. He seemed genuinely concerned. His kindness and my own embarrassment at the situation caused more tears to leak out. "You said in there that you worked," he said, pointing towards the court with his chin. "What do you do?"

  "I'm a veterinary nurse," I told him, "but my hours were cut last year, so I'm on a lot less money than I was, hence the trouble I had paying MVDI." I played with my napkin, twisting it between my fingers, praying that he'd hurry up and drink his coffee.

  "So how come you weren't represented? Any lawyer worth his salt would've stopped you going to court today, racking up costs."

  "I couldn't afford it." The truth was that I hadn't even tried to get help; too ashamed to admit how badly I'd fucked up. I wasn't about to share that nugget with him though. He was clearly one of life's winners: good-looking, great hair, and immaculately dressed. He was wearing what was obviously a good quality navy wool coat over his suit. I doubted his feet were wet. Mine were like blocks of ice.

  He interrupted my pity party. "Did you try Citizen's Advice or National Debtline?"

  I shook my head.

  "They could have helped you, even though you work. There are benefits available for people on low incomes. They can guide you to what you're entitled to." He smiled tentatively.

  "I don't want to be 'entitled,' thank you. I just want to work, earn and pay my way like everyone else. It seems I can't even do that." I paused. "Mr McCarthy."

  "Andy... please."

  "Andy. Thanks for your fake concern, but I'm sure you have better things to do than deal with a fuck-up like me, who you've just shafted for every penny I'll earn for the foreseeable future. You may think it's 'only,' but to me it was everything. You've had your gawp, assuaged yourself by saving my life. Your good deed for the day is done. I'd appreciate some alone time now." I stared down into my coffee, resisting the urge to walk out and leave it there. Lattes were a rare treat, and I was enjoying mine. It was too hot to just gulp down though; I wanted time to savour it.